


Ice Cold

by Daegaer



Series: Once and Future [4]
Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Crossover, Demons, Friendship, Gen, The Arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-13
Updated: 2004-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:05:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bran is sent to do a favor for Crowley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cold

'I want you to do something for me,' Crowley said, refilling Bran's cup. 'You don't have anything planned for the next few weeks, do you?'

'Nothing that can't be changed,' Bran said. He sipped the coffee appreciatively. Like everything else in the restaurant, he would have had to save up to order it if he'd been the one paying. He hated the thought of what Crowley would carelessly pay for the whole lunch.

'Good. It's quite a distance, and you'll be meeting someone - I want you to behave yourself and do as he says, all right?'

'Yes,' Bran said. It was what he always said when Crowley asked him to do something, and he'd never yet regretted it.

'Good,' Crowley said again and raised his hand, beckoning the waitress over. 'Could we have another pot of this coffee, please? And we'll have the cheese - that's all right, Bran? - oh, and could I borrow a red pen? Thank you.'

With their fresh coffee and the cheeseboard depleted, Crowley leaned over the table and took Bran's left arm, rolling up his sleeve to the elbow. He bent over it, the red pen in his hand.

'You'll need some protection,' he said casually, and began drawing. The touch of the pen felt like a knife, sharp and hot on Bran's skin. He stared in fascination as Crowley carefully drew a pattern that seemed difficult for Bran to focus on, speaking quietly all the time in words that Bran couldn't understand and that he felt rather than heard. 'Of course, in the old days we wouldn't be doing this in ink,' Crowley said, turning Bran's arm over to start on the underside. He looked over his sunglasses and winked. 'But it's the symbolism that's important, right?' He went back to work, and Bran watched as his entire forearm was covered in an intricate pattern, from wrist to elbow. Finally Crowley capped the pen and held his hand out over the table. After a momentary pause, for Crowley never asked him for such displays, Bran touched his lips to the smooth skin and Crowley sat back, cheerful. 'Sorry about that,' he said, 'it's all part of the ritual.'

Bran shrugged, rolling his sleeve back down. The lines were barely visible now, but he felt an ache in his bones that wouldn't go.

'You'll get used to it,' Crowley said, watching his face. 'And you'll be glad of it - you won't get cold, for a start.'

'Where am I going?' Bran said.

'Ah,' Crowley said, and smiled more wickedly than usual.

 

* * *

 

The wind cut across the white brilliance, blowing loose snow up around Bran's face. He pushed his sunglasses further up his nose and looked around him curiously. Behind him, the helicopter rose into the air again, heading back to the ship. He thought with some longing of his cabin and his bunk - he hadn't been able to sleep for the last couple of nights for excitement and worry. Taking a deep breath, Bran turned away from McMurdo station and began to trudge across the snow.

He had walked for hours, with no difficulty, when he saw a figure ahead. Like him the other person was dressed lightly in ordinary clothes, and was looking around carefully. This had to be the person he was meeting, Bran thought, and walked a bit faster.

'Hello,' he called as he came up.

The figure turned, fast, and stared at Bran. Bran felt his breath shorten in fury, and then remembered Crowley's instructions. He forced his anger down and walked forward.

'Hello, Will,' he said. If Crowley wanted him to work with Will Stanton he'd do it, he told himself.

'You,' Will said, disgust written all over his round, pleasant face. 'What are _you_ doing here?'

His tone made it easier for Bran to smile broadly. 'What sort of greeting is that for an old friend, Will _bach_?' he said fondly. 'What is it that we're here for?'

'Go away, Bran,' Will said. 'There's nothing here that concerns you.'

'Ach, Will, there's not a need to be so prickly. I've been sent to meet --'

'I don't care what your master intends,' Will said angrily. 'Go back to him. You made your choice. We're not friends.'

'We don't have to be,' Bran said easily. 'We can still work together, which is what my _friend_ wants.' He looked around the bleak landscape to see if there was anything Will might have been looking at. Nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Will run forward, and backed up quickly, but Will grabbed him.

'Listen, I can still help you --,' Will started, then sickness rolled over his face and he dropped his hold on Bran's arms. He gasped for breath, bending over as if standing upright was too difficult and wiping a sudden sweat from his wan face. 'What sort of filth --' he said, and got himself under control, swallowing heavily.

A feeling of warm and nasty pleasure roiled through Bran as he watched Will. He'd always thought Crowley was stronger than the _dewin_ folk, and was glad to have it confirmed.

'You see, Will, _friends_ don't leave you to fend for yourself,' he said sarcastically. ' _Friends_ look out for each other.' He stepped forward, meaning to see if Will was incapacitated.

Will looked up angrily, and pointed at him. ' _Stay still_ , you creature of the Dark,' he said.

Bran felt his joints stop obeying him. Before panic could take over he realised he could still move his left arm, and thrust it out between them. Immediately he found he could move freely once more. Will focused on what was visible under the cuff of Bran's sweatshirt, his eyes cold and distant. All at once his hands were full of brilliant light, brighter than Bran could easily look at, and he flung it into Bran's face. Staggering back, Bran threw his arm up over his eyes. A shock of pain burned through his arm and he felt the force Will had used turned back violently. Gasping with pain he saw that Will had fallen over. The pattern of lines Crowley had drawn on his arm were bright and clear, and a fierce joy rose up in him despite the pain that he had been given the chance to meet Will Stanton on a more level ground than he had expected. Bran ran forward as Will moaned and moved awkwardly. Maybe he couldn't use light as a weapon like the Old Ones, but Crowley had given him something almost as useful as long as Will was still stunned. He pulled the gun out of the back of his jeans and aimed it without shaking. He'd explain it was self-defence; Crowley would forgive him. He squeezed the trigger.

'Stop that at once!' a voice shouted, and Bran found himself lying on his back in the snow. He shook his head and saw Will trying to get back on his feet, though there was no way he could have missed at that range. A hand grabbed his upper arm and Bran was hauled onto his feet. His eyes widened as he saw who had a hold of him. It was the angel. Bran swung at him, left-handed, and the angel made a face like he'd smelled something bad and let go.

'Oh, for Heaven's sake,' the angel said in irritation and went off to pick Will up.

Bran looked round frantically for the gun. Crowley'd said he might need it to chase away polar bears. He'd laughed and said there weren't any polar bears at the South Pole and Crowley had shrugged and said to take it anyway. Maybe it was special, maybe it could be used against the angel.

'I have it,' the angel said, beside him once more, 'and you needn't think you're getting it back, you young idiot. What were you thinking of?'

'He attacked me!' Bran said angrily. 'I was just defending myself! I was supposed to meet him, and he attacked me!'

'No, you silly boy, you were supposed to meet _me_ ,' the angel said. 'What _he's_ doing here I don't know. What _are_ you doing here?' he asked Will.

'I don't answer to the Dark,' Will said haughtily.

The angel began to laugh. Bran looked at Will's expression and felt like laughing too.

'My dear boy,' the angel said. 'I'm a friend of Merriman's. How _is_ the old reprobate?'

'He's an _angel_ , Will. Have you lost your sight?' Bran said mockingly, and Will scowled, opening his mouth to say something.

'I do understand it's traditional for young men to metaphorically compare the size of their -- equipment,' the angel said dryly, 'but do let's not stand around here all day.'

Will and Bran looked at him, and exchanged glances.

'"Equipment?"' Will mouthed.

'You English are very prudish,' Bran said, and saw a quick grin flit over Will's face. For a moment he felt sorry they were no longer friends.

'He can't be an angel,' Will said.

'He is,' Bran said, shrugging.

'And "he" has a name,' the angel said cheerfully. 'Now, Bran, let's get a move on.'

Bran hung back, nervous. Crowley would have told him, he thought. This was a trick. The angel sighed.

'You really were meant to meet me,' he said. 'Not telling you made it less likely that other people --,' he looked at Will, '-- would find out my movements.'

'Crowley would have come, if you were going to be here,' Bran said uncertainly.

'Crowley hates the snow,' the angel said, smiling. 'Come on, you're quite safe.'

'Safer than you know, Aziraphale,' Bran said, more bravely than he felt, and kept his left arm in front of his body. The angel frowned.

'Aziraphale. I _have_ heard of you,' Will said. 'Merriman said you were a warrior of the Light.' His voice showed he was highly disappointed to be confronted with a mild-looking, suit-wearing middle-aged man with a satchel slung across his body.

'Well, now that we're all acquainted, perhaps we could not spend all day standing in the wind?' Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes from Bran's arm. 'Although -- you know, that's not terribly healthy for you, my dear boy. Will you let me get rid of it for you?'

'No!' Bran said. 'Crowley said it was for protection, and I've already needed it.'

'Yes, but I'll look after you now,' Aziraphale said. 'You don't need to worry.' He raised an eyebrow at Bran's expression. 'My dear. I'm an angel, you said so yourself. Do you think I'm lying? Come on, I bet Crowley said you should listen to me, didn't he?'

'Yes,' Bran said unwillingly.

'I'm glad to see he had some sense. So, will you let me remove that?'

'I'm wearing jeans and a sweatshirt,' Bran said. 'I'll freeze to death.'

'You won't,' Aziraphale said. 'For a start I'd owe Crowley someone, and he can't have any of my people.'

Bran smirked at the thought of one of the angel's people working for Crowley, and rolled up his sleeve before he could change his mind. 'Go on, then,' he said, not liking the look in Will's face, but deciding Crowley would be pleased he'd done as he'd been told.

'Sensible boy,' Aziraphale said, taking out a large, white handkerchief. He spat on it and rubbed at Bran's arm. The ink came off easily, and Bran felt the ache in his bones that had become so familiar lifted from him. 'There we go,' Aziraphale said, 'all better. I do wish he wouldn't do that sort of thing.' The handkerchief flared into blue flame and burned to fine ash, and Aziraphale dusted his hands off fastidiously. 'Right. Let's go,' he said.

 

 

* * *

 

They had walked for what Bran thought might have been an entire day, and he was wishing he were back in London. The three of them struggled on against the wind that shot stinging particles of snow into exposed flesh. Bran was feeling chilly and miserable, and ruefully thought that he'd been perfectly warm and the snow hadn't touched him before Crowley's pattern had been removed. The snow blew up into Aziraphale's face as well, and the angel had sneezed more than once. Will had at least stopped laughing at both of them since a gust of snow-laden wind had knocked him down and he'd seen the hastily hidden nasty smile on Aziraphale's face. Bran had felt much better about the angel since that incident. He'd felt for some time that Crowley and he weren't the hate-filled enemies that Crowley had insisted - in a voice more amused than usual - that they were. Perhaps the angel was coming round to seeing things Crowley's way, Bran thought, or at least they could have a civil truce when needed.

The angel turned his back against the wind and fiddled round in his little satchel, pulling out a small thermos. He drank and held it out to Bran.

'What is it?' Bran said warily.

'Bovril,' Aziraphale said.

Bran hesitated, thinking of treachery, then shrugged and drank. He didn't think the angel would risk Crowley's anger if he were harmed. The Bovril was strong and hot and he thought he must have emptied the flask by the time he handed it back. Aziraphale tossed it to Will who drank gratefully. There had to have been more in it than he had realised, Bran thought.

'Why are you here?' Will asked Aziraphale belligerently.

'I'm observing something,' Aziraphale said, capping the thermos and stowing it away again.

'What?' Will and Bran chorused.

'Would either of you boys like a Marathon bar?' Aziraphale said. 'Lots of energy in chocolate and peanuts.'

'You may as well say yes,' Bran murmured. 'Apparently he's always like this.'

'What would you know about what an angel's like?' Will said, and took the offered chocolate with ill grace.

'Thank you,' Bran said, taking his. 'You do know they haven't been called that for years?'

'They're the same bar, what does the name matter? No, no, give me the wrapper, this is a delicate eco-system and I won't have you littering,' Aziraphale fussed. He leaned in close as he took back the wrapper and said quietly, 'And I'll thank you to realise that I don't care how disgracefully Crowley favours you, you keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me.'

Bran looked into the bright and colourless eyes and silently dropped his gaze, his cheeks burning.

'Right,' Aziraphale said, 'as for what we're here to observe, well, I'm not entirely sure myself. Something big. I must say I'm surprised that Merriman wasn't willing to wait for me to get in contact.'

'I wasn't sent by Merriman,' Will said uneasily. 'I knew something was happening, and everyone said it was under control but no one would tell me what it was.'

'So you came here by yourself. Dear me, boys never change,' Aziraphale said.

'Are you really an angel?' Will asked rudely.

'Would you feel better if I had a horrible hairstyle and a trumpet, dear?' Aziraphale said. 'Why don't you ask Merriman after he's finished shouting at you when you get back? Let's go.'

Two days of walking later, Bran was wishing not to be back in London, but to be back in Wales before any of this had started, before he'd ever met Crowley. If he could just be a child again, he thought, he'd not answer the young man who spoke to him that day, he'd have a boring and ordinary life and he'd never have to walk across a glacier in all his days. And, he thought looking at Will, he'd have his friends. Will wouldn't look at him with that shuttered and angry expression. He'd have kept in touch with the Drews. Jenny would -- he trudged on, not wanting to think any further. It was just a stupid childhood crush, he told himself angrily. He'd had plenty of girlfriends, and if he was really so set on a particular girl, well, he knew who to ask for a favour, didn't he? His mind shied away from the possibility. Crowley might say no. Worse, Crowley might say yes. He saw Aziraphale look his way suddenly and felt horribly exposed. The angel said nothing, for which Bran was very grateful.

'I think we're nearly there,' Aziraphale said. 'We should have a rest.' He sat down in the snow, and Bran and Will dropped down beside him after a moment. Aziraphale handed over the thermos again. It was full of coffee heavily laced with brandy and burned its way down Bran's throat. He handed it over to Will and politely took the sandwich held out by Aziraphale.

'Why do we have to have this creature of the Dark along?' Will asked. 'You can't want him to see whatever there is to see.'

'We can't have just one side seeing things when it might impinge on both,' Aziraphale said. 'And he's just a human, he's not Dark nor Light.'

'I've seen his master. He serves the Dark,' Will said.

'Not really,' Aziraphale said, grabbing Bran's wrist. 'Sit down, boy, and don't be so touchy. People can change their minds, and do new things. No one's course is set in stone.'

'He's made his choice,' Will said angrily.

'Oh. Well, I'm all in favour of second and third chances and so on,' Aziraphale said cheerily. 'I suppose I'm a bit old-fashioned.' He smiled at Bran, saying, 'You can come and work for me any time you like.'

'No thanks,' Bran said, 'I don't run out on my friends.'

Aziraphale patted his arm and didn't seem too disappointed. He searched in his satchel, and made them eat several more sandwiches and a couple of sausage rolls before shooing them on their feet again. They trudged onward.

After another hour Aziraphale stopped them, and made them lie down in the snow, peering over a ridge.

'Can't you just make us invisible?' Bran said.

'Where's your sense of the dramatic?' Aziraphale said distractedly. 'Look over that way - do you see the smoke?'

'Yes,' Bran said.

'What is it? This is the middle of nowhere,' Will said.

'It's a secret station,' Aziraphale said. 'Operated by very paranoid American agents who patrol regularly and who would love to shoot us all.'

'Oh,' Will said. ' _Can_ you make us invisible?'

'I already am,' Aziraphale said and got to his feet. 'I just think it's traditional to peer over the tops of ridges at secrets. It's in all the films we've -- I've seen.' He shaded his eyes and looked out across the plain of snow and ice. 'So white,' he said in a dreamy voice. 'And tinged with gold -- ah! Look!'

Bran followed where he was pointing and saw a couple of tiny figures that had seemed to come from nowhere, stumbling along over the ice.

'Who are they?' he asked.

'US agents,' Aziraphale said, a look of deep concentration on his face. 'From a _different_ agency. Oh -- the poor dear, she's -- _oh bugg -- blast!_ '

Bran gaped as the ice out on the plain fractured and fell in on itself, a shockwave of crumbling whiteness threatening to catch up with the tiny fleeing figures. From out of the immense hole left behind a huge and incomprehensible shape rose, a vast disc.

'What, what is it?' Will gasped.

'A spaceship, don't you watch _any_ television?' Aziraphale said in a dazed voice. 'Oh dear, oh dear. Open your eyes, Bran, you're meant to be observing this. Oh dear, this really isn't right.'

They watched it rise out of sight and then Aziraphale shook himself. 'Well,' he said. 'That was worth coming to see. Now, you two stay here, I'll fix things.' And he was gone. Bran looked confusedly around and saw him far off with the two figures. He bent over them, touching them and was gone once more.

'Merriman's never going to believe this,' Will said.

'I'm not sure Crowley will either,' Bran said.

'Why do you serve him?' Will said after an uncomfortable pause. ' _You_ , of all people.'

'I don't serve him. He's my friend,' Bran said, wishing he couldn't remember kissing Crowley's hand. 'He's been my friend for years. Since you stole my memories.'

'I was trying to give you your life back,' Will said slowly. 'I was being your friend.'

'My life as the freak, with the dog shot for sheep-killing? He's been a better friend. He's taken care of me, he's taken an interest in me, and he's not what you think.'

'Not a creature - or a lord - of the Dark? Are you stupid?' Will snapped.

'He's not from the Dark,' Bran said, his loyalty stung, 'no more than Aziraphale's one of your Light.' He wished he hadn't said that, thinking about the angel, and how Crowley was -- something else. 'You don't understand,' he said quietly. 'He's never asked me to do anything bad, never. I know the difference between right and wrong, and I've never seen the harm in anything I've done for him.' He fell silent, frantically thinking about all the things he'd done for Crowley. He'd never been asked to do anything evil, he knew it.

There was a very long silence, and then Will looked at the shattered plain and back at Bran. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I'm sorry.' He paused and seemed to search for the right words. 'Merriman knows Aziraphale,' he said. 'He's always said Aziraphale was of the Light -- but he doesn't seem to be too much at odds with your mas-- your friend. I'd have made sure you didn't see this, but he brought you along and kept you safe.'

Bran shrugged, not wanting to let Will know any of his thoughts on Crowley's dealings with the angel.

'When we get back to London, d'you fancy meeting for a pint?' Will said quickly.

Bran laughed, saying, ' _What?_ And me a creature of your precious Dark?'

'We wouldn't have to talk about our work,' Will said. 'It's just, well, if your friend and Merriman's can manage not to kill each other, maybe we could manage to have a drink. Without killing each other.'

'I'd have to OK it,' Bran said warily.

'So would I.'

'Or we could just not tell anyone,' Bran said, a sudden grin lightening his face. A look of pure mischief crossed Will's face.

'Why not? Promise not to try and persuade me to defect?'

'No promises, Will _bach_ ,' Bran laughed.

They were still sniggering when Aziraphale appeared again, without warning.

'Oh good, you haven't strangled each other. Well, I'm done. Maybe we should go.'

' _What_ have you done?' Will asked before Bran could.

'The really important bit of observing _anything_ , dear boy. Covering it all up afterwards. Bran, you tell Crowley everything's under control, but he may, er, want to consider a rare and extraordinary meeting to discuss it, just in case.'

'Rare and extraordinary,' Bran said, grinning as Will spluttered, 'I'll remember to tell him.'

Aziraphale looked at them both suspiciously, but very obviously decided not to pursue the matter. 'Let's go home,' he said.

Bran sagged at the thought of the long trek, and the angel smiled at his despair.

'Cheer up. There's a helicopter waiting over at that station for us to, er, borrow. We should probably get a move on, before people start waking up. They might object.'

'I can't fly a helicopter, can either of you?' Will said in surprise.

'My dear boys, you know what I am,' Aziraphale said airily. 'Flying's second nature to me. How hard can it be?'

He slid down the ridge. Bran and Will looked at each other, expressions of horror and amusement warring in their faces, and slid down after him.

Bran felt light and happy, all of a sudden. He had plenty to tell Crowley about. And plenty to keep to himself as well, he thought, looking over at Will. But that was all right. It was very pleasant to have something that Crowley hadn't given him.


End file.
